


Kay-Ras and the Immortal Wolf

by cranewave



Category: Original Work
Genre: Gen, Magic, One-Shot, Wherwolf
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-17
Updated: 2020-05-17
Packaged: 2021-03-02 23:28:44
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 776
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24225109
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cranewave/pseuds/cranewave
Summary: A one-shot about an OC of mine. It's really short, sorry.
Kudos: 1





	Kay-Ras and the Immortal Wolf

“Lycaon! You have three hundred .50 caliber rifles aimed at you! Surrender!” The voice boomed from the second floor balcony around the edge of the room. The boy addressed just smiled. 

“Minions of Kay-Ras, I presume?” he called back.

“Um, yes…” the voice said, sounding uncertain despite its volume. The speaker was probably surprised to find that his quarry was not the grizzled old wherwolf he’d imagined, but a blond, skinny, seventeen-year-old human male with a wispy beard standing a short distance away from his school group. 

“Kay-Ras would have known to send foot soldiers, too. And mages, for that matter,” the boy challenged. 

Almost instantly, twenty people around the room withdrew weapons from their ethereal sheaths. They clustered in five groups of four, each containing a soldier with a mace, one with a sword, one with an axe, and one with a quarterstaff. An additional person stood halfway between each pair of groups, all five of them women, and settled into a crouch suitable for barehanded combat. 

“Twenty-five foot soldiers,” the voice bragged, “and twelve lumini. You are outnumbered. You have a disadvantage by location. Timing is also in our favor. You can only surrender. As one warrior to another, there is no dishonor in accepting the inevitable, so long as it doesn’t endanger others.”

During the brief monologue, the boy’s mind had been running calculations. He knew that it had taken 1,1752 seconds exactly for the soldiers to receive the signal, and another 0,3910 seconds for them to act. This ruled out telepathy, which was instantaneous, but it also ruled out verbal cues, meaning he would have no warning when they attacked. Each bullet, he knew, would take 0,0100 seconds to reach him, the standard reload time of 0,1000 seconds between shots. He would be hit by 217 rounds per second. He would have 1,5662 seconds before the first bullet hit him. 

He could see the plan. The foot soldiers would take about seven seconds to reach him, giving the gunners time to fire 18’900 bullets into him. The foot soldiers would attack in waves of five, each group along with the martial artist across from him, and give three seconds after each wave fell for the snipers to shoot him again. Assuming he could kill each wave in 0,6600 seconds, that would give the lumini half a minute to cast the spell he knew they would.

The boy’s smile widened. Not enough time. The lumini needed at least a minute to cast their spell. Each wave would put their plan 6,5400 seconds off. By playing their game, he could defeat them.

The soldiers wouldn’t know how long the lumini would need. They would have been given the timing, nothing more. They wouldn’t improvise. Everything would go as dictated. With standard Kay-Ras discipline, each would follow the plan their forefathers had laid down to kill the Lycaon until the end. A plan that couldn’t work. 

He had another option. Without moving a muscle, he could kill each of them before they could twitch. Between heartbeats. Add them to the body count that had been growing for millennia before they realized he had stepped outside the parameters of their plan.

No, he would not play along. Rather, he would unleash one barrage, sixty-five needles, each microscopic, each destined to end the life of five zealots of the god known as Ras.

All this passed through the boy’s head in the time it took the voice to give away their numbers. At the end of the speech, he said one word.

“Run.”

“Worry not, Lycaon. Kay-Ras always spares those that don’t know this world of ours. Such ignorance is a blessing from Ras, and so we safeguard it. Your companions will not be harmed,” the voice declared.

“I was talking,” came the reply, “to you.”

He raised his right hand, fingers spread. An unnecessary gesture, but he found mild enjoyment in the showmanship of it. From each finger, thirteen needles, conjured from shadow, departed. Every needle found a home in a warrior’s head, then split in two. Each smaller needle formed this way slew two more.In less time than it took the light that bounced off each zealot to reach the eyes of the boy, all three hundred and twenty-five minions of Kay-Ras were killed.

A second later, twelve drence, each wearing a bamboo mask, looked over the balcony’s railing. They died the same way as their comrades, without having seen a thing.

Two minutes after the voice first spoke, the boy hurried to catch up with his class, none of whom had seen or heard a thing. 


End file.
